


Where the Blue of the Sea Meets the Sky

by canary



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: M/M, a love letter to the scenery designers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 14:25:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12961287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canary/pseuds/canary
Summary: Maybe it had started a long time ago; maybe Prompto had just noticed it for the first time.





	Where the Blue of the Sea Meets the Sky

**Author's Note:**

> I haven’t played Episode Prompto yet, so this is written based on my interpretation of the original gameplay.
> 
> Fair warning: the scenery porn is more explicit than the actual porn.

Whistling absently to himself, Prompto jogged up the stairs of the Leville Hotel in Lestallum. It felt like they’d been camping for a whole damn week, and he was _so_ ready for a hot shower and a night in a bed. With a mattress. And a real pillow, not his stupid inflatable one that always deflated halfway through the night. (He’d even secretly switched with Gladio once, just to see if he had a defective one. Either they were all defective or he had a pillow-related curse.) He’d shoot himself before he’d say one word of complaint, and he enjoyed plenty of it—the beautiful nature, Ignis’s cooking, hanging out with the guys around the fire all night, doing stupid crap like making Noct vogue in front of a catoblepas—but he was a city boy when you got right down to it, and a week of roughing it was _plenty_.

Okay, so it hadn’t really been a week. More like five nights. But that was close enough.

“Coming in, bro!” he chirped as he opened the door.

And promptly dropped his entire bag of potions and elixirs on the floor. Because Noctis was on one of the beds. Pants around his ankles. Jerking off.

They stared at each other in shock for approximately .025 seconds, blue eyes into blue, before Prompto launched himself backwards with a yelp, managing to slam the door as he slipped, fell, and tumbled ass over nose right back down the stairs.

Of course, Ignis and Gladio were in the lobby to witness his shame, as were three families of tourists, the guy at the check-in desk, and two members of the cleaning staff. Not that he was counting. “Everything all right?” Ignis asked with interest.

“Yes! Yes. Everything’s fine. Great. Everything is a-okay!” Prompto bounced to his feet. Something wrenched alarmingly in his lower back. “I’m just going to ummm go somewhere else now, thanks!”

“Wait!” Ignis’s voice halted him at the door. “Did you get the store of curatives that I had requested?”

“Yesthey’reupstairsIhavetogonowbye,” he managed as he half-staggered, half-ran out the door.

He made it to the overlook before collapsing on a bench, making sure to come down the other side of the stairs from Vyv—the last thing he needed was some nosy magazine editor trying to get the scoop on Prince Noctis’s personal masturbation techniques. Oh, gods, _Prince Noctis’s personal masturbation techniques_.

He put his head in his hands and performed a surreptitious First Aid on himself. The stabbing pain in his lower back receded, freeing up even more of his mind to reflect on what an utter spectacle he’d made of himself. To say nothing of the spectacle of _Noct_ —!

The truth was, Prompto felt like he was a step away from disaster most of the time. Whether it was the barcode hiding on his wrist—an unfortunate voretooth bite away from being executed in the street like a rabid dog, courtesy of Gladiolus—or the gaping chasm of inadequacy he felt every time he looked at Ignis—it was all the same. Prompto had always felt like a fraud, perhaps because he’d always had to _be_ a fraud, and he was still waiting for someone to realize it. And it’s not like he could exactly _tell_ them, “Oh, hey, I just walked in on Noct jerking off and wanted to give him his privacy _real_ quick,” because A) no, and B) Crownsguards were supposed to be unfailingly devoted to their liege, always ready to come to his aid in times of trial or strife, prepared to lay down their lives to shield him without batting an eye, etc., etc., and also, unflappable and cool with ice water running through their veins.

The last part hadn’t been formally included in the oath, but was strongly indicated by the deportment of every living Crownsguard. Prompto was all-in on the Noctis thing, but he was never going to be unflappable or cool, and sometimes Gladio accused him of having fizzy soda in his head instead of a brain. Definitely no ice water in his biological makeup.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. This was getting him nowhere, other than downwards on the slippery slope of his own anxiety.

View. He could look at the view. He’d spent his whole life—well, except for that pesky first year—in the Crown City, and he still couldn’t get over how big and beautiful the world was. The sun was starting to go down behind him, running warm fingers over the tree line on the far side of the gorge. Prompto pulled out his camera and started clicking away: the white sea spray of the Disc, reflecting the rose gold sunset; the mountains rippling in greens and shadows all the way to the Kettier Highlands, until the light changed again and they glowed purple and mauve.

 

 

Half an hour later, he was feeling less dismal. Photography did that for him: it got him out of his head. So did fiddling with machinery, but there were no half-busted radios or Bioblasters on offer.

“Want some company?”

Prompto tried not to wince, lowering his camera. It was getting too dark for landscape shots anyway, at least with the equipment he had on him. “Hey, buddy.”

Noctis tugged a hand through his hair. It was looking unusually spiky. “You made a lot of noise falling down the stairs. I’m glad you’re okay.”

“What can I say, I bounce,” he joked. “And um, sorry about earlier. I should have knocked.”

“I should have made sure the door was locked.” Noctis leaned on the railing next to him.

Prompto had spent the last month of his life with other dudes basically 24/7, and was also a dude himself. He knew masturbation happened. He was even 70% confident that Ignis had masturbated at least once in his life. “Not a big deal. Just a little startled, and then I dropped the bag, and then I slipped, and then it all went to hell.”

He offered Noctis a grin. Noctis gave him an affectionate punch to the shoulder.

“Want to get some dinner? Ignis is humoring Gladio and eating cup noodles, but I’m really not in the mood.”

“’Kay.” Prompto snapped his camera back in its case. “Long as you’re buying. Lead on, Prince Noctis,” and he added a ridiculous swirling bow, because why not.

They ended up at the café in the market, surrounded by Lestallum’s characteristic press of people. He could smell spices from all of the stalls, even over his turmeric-coated skewers. Ahh, Lestallum: where the only thing hotter than the weather was the fire in your mouth. Meanwhile, Noctis was frowning at his stew, as if perplexed by the fact that it included vegetables.

“They won’t kill you, ya know.”

“They might.”

“Bro, I think you’re more likely to get taken down by the Empire, or a behemoth, or like eight million other nasty critters, than by a carrot.”

Noctis chucked a napkin at him. Prompto made a show of conspicuously, even orgasmically, enjoying his own side of cabbage slaw. The leathery old proprietor did not look amused at their antics, but Prompto caught the eye of a power plant worker at the next table over—one of the ones Gladio referred to as “built,” with rock-hard abs and a thermal suit hanging off her hips.

“Having a good night?” she asked, looking at Noctis in the way that attractive women often looked at Noctis (or Gladio) (but never Prompto).

“Sure are!” Prompto chirped. Attractive women might throw themselves at Noct on a regular basis, but he caught them with the same grace as a cockatrice and a cactuar danced the tango. That is to say, with petrification and needly discomfort all around. Ergo one of Prompto’s many jobs was to deflect the would-be lady loves, for Luna’s sake but also for everyone who would otherwise have to bear witness to Noct’s inability to be a human. “Just loving the um, offal stew.”

“It’s a local specialty.” She had dimples and could break him in half with one hand. Prompto thought he might be in love. “Are you hunters?” she asked Noctis.

“Definitely!” Prompto answered immediately. “Going to go kill lots of things tomorrow. We’re very good at killing things. The messier and the more um,” he cast around for inspiration, “insect-like the better. Have you ever had giant centipede ooze in your hair before?”

And that was the end of the conversation with the statuesque power plant worker. Noctis looked 50% grateful and 50% like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole.

“I don’t know how you look at yourself in the mirror sometimes,” he said, as they were ambling slowly through the market.

“What? I’m very handsome.” Prompto inspected a display of hair gel on one of the tables. “I could look at myself in the mirror all day.”

“You just…vomit words.”

“You absorb them like a black hole of moodiness,” he parried cheerfully.

Noctis brooded on this as he eyed a pair of white sneakers. “Who would buy white shoes?”

“Not everybody gets to wear black, buddy.”

“We’re not in the Crown City. It’s a practical color.”

“It’s also boring.” Prompto sashayed his plaid. “Gotta spice things up! But not too much. I don’t want to see anything in the tent that I’d have to tell Iggy about.”

Noctis groaned. “I’m so glad we’re joking about this already.”

“You and me both.” He slung an arm around Noctis’s neck. The air was, if anything, heating up, and the night market was in full swing. Louder music, brassier laughter than in the daytime. A group of people were dancing to a band at the far end of the market. The air smelled like old buildings, those spiky red ginger flowers, and meat on grills, with a faint touch of rancid garbage: Lestallum taking off the face she put on for the tourists. “I guess this is a pretty sexy place.”

Unexpectedly, Noctis wrapped his arm around his hips as they continued through the market.

“Should we head back?” Prompto asked, suddenly nervous for no reason that he could identify. “Mother Ignis will be worried.”

“Nah. Look at this place.” Noctis was eying the whole tableau with interest, from the dancers to the bar that had opened turquoise shutters onto the square. A line was starting to form, customers strolling back to the party with plastic cups of beer. “I’ve never been here this late before.”

“I wouldn’t think this was your um, scene.”

“What?” Noctis asked him with a laugh, faintly bitter. “Fun? Normal fun that two normal twenty year old hunters would have? Who weren’t worried about anything but hitting on power plant workers and their next payout?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Prompto said, although it may have been; he didn’t know. “You just…hate people and love video games and sleeping.”

“Fine.” He felt Noctis sag.

Something—the defeated sound in Noct’s voice, the inadvertent slump—stabbed him in the chest, right between his ribs. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. So Prompto regrouped. He was a master regrouper.

“Umm so are you asking me to buy you a drink? Or are you asking me to dance? Like this?” He busted off a dance move. It looked ridiculous, but it made Noct crack a smile, although Noct had to buy the drinks because Noct was the one with the gil.

 

 

Apparently the power plant worker from the café had a thing for giant centipede ooze (or more likely, moody sea blue eyes and glacial cheekbones), because she and a few friends had reappeared halfway through their first drink. Noctis was doing a fair impression of the cockatrice side of the cockatrice/cactuar combo: his dance moves seemed to be mostly sudden lunges, interspersed with staring at his partner in petrification. Noctis could just about manage to get through a formal waltz without stepping on anyone, but his social dancing skills fell way short of any kind of baseline competency. So it was pretty awful to watch, but Noct was laughing it off; Prompto didn’t care about anything tonight, he realized, as long as Noct was laughing. He’d been so…sad. Prompto didn’t like for Noct to be sad.

It was baffling, though, Prompto reflected as he spun his own partner around the crowd, that someone as graceful and poised as Noctis on the battlefield was such an unmitigated disaster on the dance floor. Prompto, on the other hand, was, well, less of a disaster on the battlefield than he’d been afraid of, but was quite a good dancer. His partner, who was taller than him by at least four inches, was looking pleasantly surprised.

The band started a slow song. Noctis disengaged himself with a wince; Prompto followed, waving off the ladies’ offer of another drink. Neither of them were big drinkers to begin with, and after so long on the road with only Ignis’s cooking wine on offer (a fact which Gladio complained about loudly, and often; but Prompto was pretty sure he had a bottle of whiskey stashed with the camping gear), one drink had him on the edge of tipsy. And he didn’t _think_ the Empire was about to attack, but he didn’t _know_ that either.

Noct seemed to be ambling back in the direction of the hotel. Prompto followed, whistling quietly along with the music. It was a song that had just been getting popular when they left Crown City: a quiet, contemplative one about the singer’s love for an unsuitable man. This was a brass-band version—they were still in Lestallum, after all—without the vocals, but it still reminded him of the week before they’d left. All of the meetings, all of the worrying, all of the times he’d had to duck into a bathroom and throw up from the nerves that he would fail them all. But at the same time, he’d been happy, even excited that Noct trusted him this much. Valued him this much. Wanted him along as he started the next chapter of his life.

And then it had all gone to hell.

Prompto examined Noct’s profile. He was staring at the fountain in front of the hotel. It was quieter and darker here; the sounds of the band and crowd had receded, to be replaced by the hush of cascading water. A couple were whispering to each other on one of the benches, but other than that they were alone. It felt—intimate.

“This was fun,” he offered into the night, because those weird nerves were starting to crawl up from his stomach again.

“Yeah.” Noctis seemed to have stalled.

Usually Prompto was good at reading him, but he had no idea what was going through Noctis’s head. “It’s okay to enjoy yourself,” he offered. “With, you know, stuff other than fishing and King’s Knight.”

No response. Prompto shrugged. Despite Gladio’s accusations to the contrary, he did know how to shut his mouth. He just didn’t do it much. He lowered himself onto the edge of the fountain, and waited for Noctis to give him a clue.

Noctis sat slowly, close enough that their shoulders were brushing. “I don’t know if I want to marry Luna,” he said, staring off into the dark.

“Oh.” Prompto thought through several responses, discarding each. He finally settled on, “I thought you liked her,” which was so wildly inadequate he winced.

“I do. I love her.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Noctis shrugged. He didn’t really do feelings under the best of circumstances, Prompto thought, back to looking at his profile. In the dark, he was a gleam of blue eyes—had they always had that almost…glow?—and a smudge of black lashes. His skin had always been stupidly good, even while everyone else in their class was breaking out: a smooth, creamy expanse that never blemished or burned.

“I don’t know if I love her—like that.”

Prompto was back to, “Oh.”

“She’s like a big sister to me.” Noct rubbed his hands over his face. Even his cuticles were perfect. How he’d managed that, with the camping and the sword-swinging, was a mystery. “I think about, you know…after the wedding, and I just…” He trailed off into silence, before a bitter laugh. “I guess it doesn’t matter now.”

“I’m so sorry.” Again, wildly inadequate. Prompto leaned into Noctis’s shouder. They sat like that for a while longer. It was the best that he could do. Prompto wasn’t smart like Ignis, or good with people like Gladio. He was the comic relief and the deflector of would-be lady-loves. But right now, he could just—be here.

After a while—five minutes, fifteen, he didn’t know—Noct gave himself a shake. He stood and offered Prompto a hand up. “We should head in.”

Prompto let himself be pulled up. Fleetingly, he wished he’d taken his gloves off so that he could feel the skin on Noctis’s hand, but he dismissed the thought as soon as it occurred to him.

 

 

“Go ahead to bed,” Prompto directed Noctis once they were back in their room. He was starting to get his bleary before-bed look. It was adorable how he didn’t function without sleep, not that Prompto would ever say that out loud. “I didn’t get a shower earlier.”

Noctis stripped without further hesitation—he and Prompto had lost any standards of modesty within a week on the road; Gladio had never had any to begin with; and while Ignis was still clinging to his, Prompto had seen him shirtless a few days ago, which was an indication that even his rigid adherence to social norms was starting to fray—and climbed into bed.

“Night, buddy.”

Noctis mumbled something. Prompto figured he’d be lost to the world within ten seconds. It was a good thing the magic of the havens kept anything nasty from ambushing them overnight; Noctis was useless without a good half an hour to ease himself into the day.

He kicked off his boots and left his clothes in a pile by the bathroom door. The shower was pure heaven: a firm jet of Exineris-heated water, pounding into the knots on his shoulders and washing off the last remnants of the centipede sludge. There was something to be said for bathing in rivers (mainly that it inevitably devolved into splash-fights or the three of them chucking Ignis off a rock), but there was nothing in the world like a hot shower after a week on the road. Even Gladio admitted it.

Prompto dug his fingers into his scalp. It was also nice to have a little time to himself. He was a social creature, as it turned out, but the constant togetherness could wear on him after a while. He’d never gotten the sense that Gladio or Ignis actually _liked_ him, so much as tolerated him for Noct’s sake; he thought—he hoped—he was winning himself some respect, but he felt like he always had to be on his best behavior around them. When he and Noct had been hanging out alone in the Crown City, he’d felt like he could just…be himself.

(Of course: never all the way. The barcode sometimes felt like a physical barrier between him and the world. But there was nothing he could do about it, so he tried not to let himself dwell. He was pretty sure Marshall Cor and the late King Regis knew anyway. They had to have done background checks on him when he and Noct started getting close, and he didn’t know how well his adoptive parents could have hidden his sudden appearance.)

But all of that was the last thing in the world he wanted to be thinking about, with this rare time to himself. The door was locked; Gladio and Ignis were in another bedroom; and Noct wasn’t waking up short of a herd of garulas stampeding over his bed. The one thing he’d learned about getting off on the road was the importance of opportunism—Noct had had the right idea earlier, albeit with a fatal flaw on the unlocked door.

He slowly walked a hand down to his nascent erection, turning his face back up into the spray. Bending Cindy over the hood of the Regalia was usually a reliable favorite; he hadn’t quite gotten up the nerve to jerk off to Aranea yet. Sometimes Iris snuck in, but then he couldn’t look at Gladio for at least a day, so it got awkward. But tonight none of his old standbys were quite getting him there.

Releasing a whine of frustration, he pivoted to the power plant worker he’d danced with, the feeling of her breasts as she’d brushed against his chest. But then suddenly, he was looking at Noctis over her shoulder. Instead of focusing on his own dance partner, Noct was searing him with that sun-on-seawater stare he had.

And then suddenly Prompto was coming.

Well, he thought after he was done, that was a new one.

He toweled it off along with the water. Sometimes shit got weird when you spent so much time with the same people. Although—he fought off a shiver—he was pretty sure he would rather _actually die_ than jerk off to Gladio or Ignis.

 

 

Gladio knocked on the door at fuck-you o’clock in the morning. Noct didn’t even twitch. Giving his best friend’s back an affectionate look, Prompto scraped himself out of the other bed.

“We need a plan,” Gladio grunted. “Iris is waiting in Cape Caem. Get Sleeping Beauty’s ass out of bed or I’ll do it for him.”

Fifteen minutes of epic struggle later, they were sitting at a café waiting on pancakes.

“Your life would be rather easier if you would partake of some coffee,” Ignis said, sipping on his mug.

Prompto had to agree, taking a generous gulp of his own. He wasn’t an addict like Iggy, but gods knew it did help to knock the cobwebs out of his brain. And Noctis was looking more than characteristically miserable.

“How late were you out, anyway?” Gladio asked.

“Not that late,” Prompto answered.

Ignis frowned. “You weren’t drinking, were you? I hear it can get quite wild in Lestallum.”

“We had like, one drink. Mostly we danced with some sexy power plant ladies.” Prompto gave his eyebrows a lascivious wiggle. “Noct made quiiiite an impression.”

The frown deepened. “See that you don’t lose focus.”

Gladio ruined the effect by grinning and slapping Noctis on the shoulder. “Finally living a little!”

Noctis gave a little moan and put his head down on the table. “I guess we can get going. We’ve got enough gil for now. As long as I can sleep in the car.”

“Of course you can.” Prompto reached over to give him a gentler pat on the shoulder, then had to stop himself from yanking his fingers back like they’d been burned. He’d had at least one dream last night that had been rather more um, graphic than it had gotten in the shower. Someone had indeed ended up getting bent over the hood of the Regalia, but it wasn’t Cindy and it hadn’t been Prompto: in fact, the exact same back of Noct’s neck currently on display had featured prominently as a visual.

He retreated into his coffee mug. Ignis and Gladio began bickering over when they’d need to stop for gas. If anyone noticed how quiet he was for the rest of the morning, they didn’t mention it.

 

 

Noctis perked back up as they were approaching Leirity Seaside. “Can we stop here for the day? I could catch another fish for that cat. He’s gotta be pretty hungry again.”

As an excuse, it wasn’t much, but after some grumbling Ignis agreed to pull the car over. Prompto did not have a driver’s-seat role in determining their itinerary, as it were, but he could see how unwilling Ignis and Gladio were to say no to any of Noctis’s requests. He understood: Noctis was having a hard enough time as it was, so was letting him splash around with his fishing rod for one more day really going to make that much of a difference?

Plus, this place was freaking gorgeous. Prompto had never spent any time at the beach—no money, no parents that cared enough to take him—but he’d felt it tugging on his soul since the first time he’d laid eyes on the sweep of Galdin Key.

Ignis declared that he was going to get started on dinner, and Gladio declared that he’d rather cut off an arm than watch Noctis fish again, so Prompto was on bodyguard duty. It wasn’t like it was hard to sit there, feeling the breeze on his face, watching the ripples of the late-afternoon sun on the water. He didn’t even feel motivated to pull out his camera, although he could see some gorgeous shots. Honestly, all he wanted to do was take his shirt off to catch some sun, and then maybe take a nap—and maybe the shirt would have come off a day ago, but now he was feeling shy and weird. He settled for taking off his boots and putting his feet in the water.

The back of Noct’s head did not seem to be picking up on his internal struggles. Cast, reel. Cast, reel. It was soothing, in its way. Nothing seemed to be biting; Noctis didn’t seem to care. Cast, reel.

After the sun had almost sunk past the horizon line, Noct finally banished his rod and collapsed on the pier next to Prompto.

“Tough crowd out there,” Prompto said.

Noct shrugged. “You never know how it’s going to go. I’m glad Ignis didn’t need me to catch something for dinner.” He tugged off his own boots. Their ankles bumped a couple of times as Prompto slowly kicked his feet back and forth.

They sat quietly, watching the last light of the sun disappear. The ocean glowed red like fire, all the way to Altissia. Prompto didn’t think he’d ever seen anything so beautiful in his life. He turned to tell Noct that, but stopped mid-breath when he saw that Noctis had already turned to look at him. His eyes were very blue and his lips were half-parted. Prompto felt an insane urge to push back his bangs, knot his fingers into Noct’s hair and—

They stared at each other, still caught by the sea and the air and the murmur of the waves. Everything else seemed so far away. Prompto felt like he could fall into Noctis’s eyes, drown himself in their wine-dark depths.

“Catch anything epic?” Gladio called from the rocks above them.

Prompto yanked back like he’d been burned.

They kept their distance for the rest of the night.

 

 

In the morning, everything was back to normal, or at least that’s what Prompto told himself. He helped Gladio pack up the tent while Noctis and Ignis went back down to the pier, managing to maintain a steady stream of chatter that would probably end in Gladio yelling at him to shut the fuck up, but had the virtue of distracting him from—whatever had or had not happened with Noctis last night.

Like, seriously? Prompto had been staring deeply into his best friend’s eyes, wondering if his lips were actually as soft as they’d always looked, wanting to _pet his hair_. One wayward fantasy and a couple of dreams were one thing. That scene last night was on a whole other level. Like, boss level.

Fortunately, the day was full of distractions. Gladio’s Cup Noodles obsession reached its apex when he saw a giant demented shrimp thing just outside of Cape Caem; Prompto hadn’t been aware that shrimp were so _mean_ , but apparently that was a thing. Fortunately giant deathshrimp also turned out to be extremely tasty. Even the cat had a nibble, no sea bass having been forthcoming.

Next, Iris coerced the vegetable-averse Noctis into being slave labor for her garden. So that was the rest of the day gone.

By the time they finally reached the lighthouse, it was after dark. Cid did his habitual check of their weapons, running a gimlet eye over Noct’s Engine Blade II. “Y’know,” he said in his creaky old-man voice, “I think I heard about a part I could use on this girl. Really get her to the next level.”

And thus, their departure for Altissia was delayed yet again.

“Guys,” Noctis said over his hand of cards that night, “we don’t know what we’re going to run into over there. It’s not responsible to go up against the Leviathan without the strongest weapons that we can get. And we know the Empire will be there too.”

It was the longest speech that he’d put together in a long time. Whether they were bowing to the volume of the words or the rare touch of passion that had shown up in Noct’s voice, Ignis and Gladio agreed.

 

 

The original Crow’s Nest in Old Lestallum was both greasier and more delicious than the franchises. Prompto closed his eyes in ecstasy as he bit into a fry. He had developed adult taste buds to go along with his hot bod, so he wasn’t super-into fast food anymore, but every once in a while it was heaven.

Noctis and Gladio were off talking to the proprietor about a lead on some Duplicorns, which left Ignis and Prompto in the booth. Prompto could just about hold up a conversation with Gladio these days, but being alone with Ignis made him _nervous_. Something about the spectacles and the incessant judgment.

“Have you been quite all right?” Ignis inquired, substantiating Prompto’s nerves. “You haven’t seemed yourself since we left Lestallum.”

“Oh, I’m fine! Just, ya know,” he waved a fry, “contemplating the potential doom of Insomnia and all that stuff. No biggie.” And also, simultaneously trying _not_ to contemplate what the skin would taste like on the back of Noctis’s neck. It was like whack-a-flan. Prompto would get himself off of Noct’s eyes, or lips, or whatever, and then something new would intrude: forearms, the curve of his neck, his ass, etc.

Ignis frowned. “If the pressure is too much for you, you can always remove yourself from the company. We can afford no liabilities moving forward.”

Prompto wanted to suck himself into his own Gravisphere. “I’m fine,” he repeated, feeling the familiar yaw and heave of his stomach whenever Gladio or Ignis noticed how colossally unfit he was to be a Crownsguard. And they didn’t even know the worst of it. He ducked his hand under the table and pressed the barcode into his leg.

“See that you remain so,” Ignis said obliquely. The tilt of his glasses indicated that he’d be watching. Which was the _last fucking thing_ Prompto needed.

 

 

They didn’t get an undamaged horn. Gladio accidentally whacked one in half with his greatsword; the other one dodged right as Prompto was taking aim, and his bullet managed to shatter it. It would have been a hell of a shot, if he’d meant to make it, but sadly, no.

“We’ll try again tomorrow,” Noct said. “It’s not your fault. Gladio fucked one up too.” He gave Prompto a friendly punch on the shoulder. Noct seemed to be handling the thing-that-hadn’t-happened at the seaside better than Prompto was. Or maybe it was just that the guys were used to Noctis being the emotional equivalent of an Imperial blockade: totally impenetrable.

 

 

They checked into the Three Z’s. They had plenty of money from the bounty on the Duplicorns, but for once, Prompto would have been happier camping. Camping had a routine. He knew what he was supposed to be doing: helping pitch the tent, coaxing the ever-ready pale blue flames into a crackling orange fire, feeding the chocobos, whatever. But here, there was nothing in particular for him to do. Take a shower (where he _just_ showered).  Clean his guns. Flip through photos from the last few days. Noct swinging his sword. Noct grinning with Gladio in the backseat.

Fuck.

He was so _fucked_.

He just didn’t know where this had all _come_ from. He’d had five years of close friendship to go gay for Noctis, and he was absolutely positive that he’d liked girls that entire time. They smelled like heaven and their bodies curved in fascinating, mysterious places. He’d even had a girlfriend in high school, at least until he’d come to the unpleasant realization that she was using him to get closer to Noctis. But still! They’d messed around plenty and relieved each other of their respective virginities. Sure, it had gotten awkward a few times, but Gladio had assured him (in what he hoped would remain the most painful conversation of his life, but who knew, with the way things were going) that was normal for teenaged sex. He had not yet experienced twenty year old sex with anyone of…whatever gender to compare it to, but he had definitely, 100%, really _really_ liked having sex with a girl. He would still like to have sex with girls. Well, women at this point.

He just wanted to be having sex with Noctis _more_.

Prompto had no problem with gay people, in the same way that he had no problem with redheads or people who didn’t like dogs. They were out there in the world, doing something differently than he did, having no impact on him or his life, so why should he care one way or another? He’d had gay classmates for sure, and even had entertained suspicions about Ignis from time to time. Hah fucking hah.

“What’s up?” Noct looked up from his phone. Prompto hadn’t been aware that his identity crisis was loud enough to draw attention.

“Uh, nothing.”

“Sure.” Noctis raised an eyebrow. He didn’t look like he believed him for a second.

“I was just thinking,” that I want to make out with you, “how great it will be to have that new sword.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not what you were thinking.”

“Um, you caught me,” Prompto admitted.

“Are you gonna tell me about it?”

“Probably not.” Definitely not. Fuck. Even Noctis was asking him what was going on. Well, he’d been there for all of it. The lingering glances. The emotional intimacy or whatever. Clearly _something_ was going on, even if neither of them knew what it was.

“Cool. You know I’m always down for not talking about things.” Noct tossed his phone onto the bed. “Want to go see what the guys are doing?”

“Sure.”

They spent the rest of the night propped up against Gladio’s headboard, playing poker for bragging rights and beetle shells. Prompto played worse than usual, which was abysmal indeed. It didn’t help that Noct kept brushing up against him every time he had to think about something.

“Are you doing that on _purpose_?” he hissed at Noct, after he’d had to fold yet again.

“Doing what?” Noctis blinked at him with limpid blue eyes, as innocent as the midday sun sparkling on the Wennath River. Gladio and Ignis were squabbling about how much longer they could delay leaving for Altissia, although that was a pointless argument since Noctis was going to make them do whatever Noctis decided to do. He wasn’t _regal_ like King Regis, but whether it was sub-rosa emotional manipulation or some innate Lucian gift, like using the Royal Arms or tossing around giant fireballs, Noctis got his way.

“Never mind.” Prompto backpedaled swiftly. Maybe it was all in his head. The stress, all of the togetherness, how depressed Noctis had been—anyone would feel for him. And he hadn’t seen Cindy in weeks. “I think I’m going to bed anyway. Poker’s not my game.”

He exited without further incident, and made sure that he was turned towards the wall with his eyes firmly shut when Noctis got back to their room a few hours later. Of course he was awake, since his brain was running a mile a minute and his body kept reminding him how Noct’s forearm had felt brushing across his thigh: so he knew that Noctis spent a while, just standing in the space between their beds, looking at him pretend to sleep.

 

 

They got the sturdy helixhorn the next day, sheared off with a surgical strike from Ignis’s dagger. “Can we finally get going now?” Gladio grumbled from the backseat of the Regalia.

“It’s still gonna take Cid a while to make the modifications,” Prompto reminded him.

Gladio groaned and put his book in front of his face, making a noise that may or may not have been “damned kids and their shiny toys.”

“You’re three whole years older,” Noctis sniped. They continued bickering at each other. Prompto leaned his head back on the seat, watching the trees of the Maidenwater whip by as the angle of the sun began to tilt towards afternoon. They were headed for something—all of them. The nights were getting longer. The daemons were getting stronger. They all tried to keep up the veneer of normalcy, and they mostly succeeded, he thought, as Gladio started whacking Noct around the head with his book.

They dropped off the helixhorn in Cape Caem, Noctis handing over his Engine Blade with reluctance. He always seemed just a touch off of his balance without it.

“What now?” Prompto asked him. From the clanging in the lighthouse, Cid was off and running, but it would still be a few days.

“Pretend none of this is happening.”

Ignis made an unamused noise. Noctis rolled his eyes, looking like the bratty fourteen-year-old that Prompto had first come to know and love.

“Making plans will keep until tomorrow.” Gladio would never say so outright, but he was always glad for an excuse to spend time with Iris. Prompto thought it was cute how he was such a doting big brother. He headed back down towards the garden, where Iris was bent over her beloved carrots. Who knew she had such a green thumb?

Prompto fiddled with his belt buckle as Ignis gave him an assessing look. He wasn’t going to let Iggy shatter the fragile sense of equilibrium he’d found in the morning, after spending all night listening to Noctis’s steady breath, watching the sun gradually steal through the curtains to paint its warm glow along the angles of his cheekbones.

“Wanna walk down to the water?” Noctis asked him, nudging his foot against Prompto’s ankle. “I’m sure there’s fish somewhere down there.”

“If you want,” he said slowly. “We’ve still got a few hours until it gets dark.”

Noctis gave Ignis a look that indicated he could find somewhere else to be. Prompto recognized it from Noct’s apartment—Ignis was a hoverer, whether it involved math homework or keeping Noct from offending Imperial dignitaries at some state function. He seemed to think Noctis would _devolve_ if not supervised at all times.

The two of them strolled back down the hill, hopping through the rocks that lead down to the coastline.

“Wonder if another deathshrimp will be down there?” Prompt asked.

“Hope not. It’d probably scare off all the fish.”

“Can’t have that, O Master Angler.” Noctis had left his jacket in the Regalia. Prompto always forgot how damned _skinny_ he was. Neither one of them was ever going to be a big guy, but the curve of Noct’s waist was almost feminine. There was nothing dainty about him, though.

They picked their way down the side of the cliff. Water sparkled in the tidal pools, little wavelets lapping up and down the sides of the volcanic rock.

“It’s so peaceful down here,” he said.

“Mhm.” Noctis was poking along the waterline, looking for a likely spot to cast from. In the distance, water and sky hazed together, blue into blue. The only sounds were the rhythmic hush of the waves, and the scrape of their boots along the rocks. It was possible to forget, for a moment at least, that they were anything but two friends spending a day at the sea. The cliffs above them cut off the view of the house; the only other signs of life were the lighthouse, and a rare car breezing across the long bridge behind them.

Prompto let himself get lost in the moment. There was no reason not to. No one could see them; no one needed anything from them, or expected anything from them.

“This is a shitty place to fish,” Noctis announced.

“Sorry, man.”

He was out about as far as he could go without getting his feet wet. Noctis had splashed out to another rock, where he was balancing precariously and swearing about boots that were supposed to be waterproof. Prompto couldn’t help but grin, to look at him: the savior of their world, whining about wet socks and still looking good enough to eat. Even if he was skinny. Even if his hair was awful. Even if he wasn’t a girl.

Sensing incipient mockery, Noct yanked off a boot and threw it at him. Prompto dodged, slipped, and landed in the water with a yelp. Gods _damn_ but the water was _cold_! It felt like bathwater at Galdin Key; in comparison, Cape Caem was the icy shower he took to try and get rid of an erection before he and Noct had to share a room.

He popped back up to the surface. Noctis was laughing, like really laughing: head thrown back, clutching his sides. Prompto liked to think he was the best, out of the three of them, at making Noct laugh. So falling in the water was really like his duty, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t retaliate. He grabbed for Noct’s bootless foot and yanked.

The True King joined him in the water with a yowl. It was at least two pitches higher than Prompto’s own.

“How do you like _that_ , huh?” Prompto gloated, going immediately for a dunk. He was already wet; might as well make the most of it.

Noctis spluttered his head back out of the water. “Not fair!”

“You started it!”

They were grinning at each other stupidly, though, and Prompto was starting to adjust to the water temperature. “Want to swim for a bit? We haven’t been in forever.” He ignored the voice inside his head that was having a panic attack about being naked in close proximity to Noctis. If something was going to happen, it might as well just go ahead and fucking _happen_. Or not happen; he still sometimes thought he was hallucinating the whole thing. But either way, he was done freaking out. Prompto had many character flaws, but an unwillingness to hurl himself headfirst into potentially disastrous situations wasn’t one of them. It was the only reason he and Noctis were friends to begin with. Well, that and Lady Lunafreya—but Luna was most definitely a thought for another time.

Dealing with bare feet on the volcanic rock was dicey, but Prompto managed an elegant dive back into the water. He’d learned to swim pretty late, as part of his fitness kick, and he hadn’t had regular access to a pool until he and Noct were friends, but he really did love it. He always felt so free in the water. Nothing dragging him down. Nothing getting in his way.

Noct followed with a war whoop and a cannonball, sending a wave of saltwater over Prompto’s head. When he came back up for air, Noct was right in front of him. Gooseflesh was radiating up his neck and his hair was plastered down across his forehead, dripping lines down his nose and over his lips. He was the sexiest thing Prompto had ever seen, much less been naked and a foot away from.

Six inches. Noct was easing towards him with an intent expression in his blue eyes.

Four. It was impossible to stay still treading water, but by the gods he was going to try.

Two.

 _Fuck it_. Prompto leaned forward, and kissed him.

He hadn’t had all that many first kisses to compare it to—two, to be exact—but it still wasn’t exactly the stuff of dreams. They bumped noses and banged teeth and damnit, kissing while treading water was _hard_. Noct’s mouth seemed frozen, too, like he wasn’t sure what to do or how to do it or even, if he wanted to be doing it at all.

Prompto drew back. Noct ducked under the water until only his eyes were showing.

“Um?” Prompto offered. “Wanna say something?”

“No.” Noct started hauling himself back up out of the water, swearing when his feet connected with the sharp edges of the rocks. He put his boots on and started back towards the base of the cliff. Feeing like he might be dying, Prompto followed.

They ended up on a flat spot of seagrass halfway up the cliff. Prompto had been pretty sure it had all been a giant mistake, and was planning out the easiest way to resign from the Kingsguard without having to explain to Ignis or Gladiolus _why_ he was resigning from the Kingsguard, and also, how to get the earth to swallow him whole—at least until Noct flopped onto the grass and towed him down. He was still naked, other than the boots; Prompto had put on his soaking-wet underwear and shirt, because the only thing worse than freezing-cold wet briefs was to continue being naked.

It was beautiful up here, and only growing more so as the sun continued on its wheel towards the Rock of Ravatogh. All of the clouds had blown out, so there was only the warm, lazy gold of the sun and the way it turned the ocean into a gilt-rippled mirror. He tried to look at Noctis, but the sun was right in his eyes and he had to turn back out to the sea. Noct was just sitting, staring out towards Altissia, pale knees pulled up to his chest and arms wrapped around his shins.

It still didn’t look like he wanted to say anything, but someone was going to have to, at some point. Prompto took a breath; he had no idea what was going to come out of his mouth, but he was used to doing the emotional labor and he might as well get it over with.

Noct beat him to it, though. He turned towards Prompto, quirking an eyebrow and the corner of his barely-kissed lips. “You know that was my first kiss?”

“ _What_?” He really hadn’t. That probably made him a horrible best friend.

“I kissed Iris when I was like, eleven.”

“That probably counts?” he offered dubiously.

“Okay.” Noct was not-quite smiling. “That was my first _adult_ kiss.”

“I can’t believe that.” Prompto ran through memories of high school. Noctis hadn’t been the most sociable, or even in the top half—okay, top three-quarters—of their class for sociability, but it wasn’t like he was a pariah, either. He went to parties occasionally, with or without Prompto. They’d gone on a few double dates, back when Prompto was dating Livia. He’d never _mentioned_ anyone, but then he was an emotional clamshell most of the time, and Prompto had assumed that there was no way the attractive, eligible Prince of Lucis would make it to twenty years of age, practically to his own wedding, without having been kissed by _anyone_.

“I know. It’s pretty pathetic.”

“Er, it’s okay. Everyone um, matures at their own speed? I think we talked about that in Health class?” he offered.

Noctis chucked his t-shirt at him. It hit him in the face with a soggy flap. Even post-dunk in the ocean, it smelled like they needed to do laundry. Which made him smile, a little: Noct was still Noct, whether or not another human’s lips had touched his mostly-human lips prior to fifteen minutes ago.

 _Shit_. Prompto winced internally. He wasn’t exactly sure if he qualified as all the way human, either, so maybe Noct was still waiting. He pitched the shirt back as cover, but Noctis caught it with his stupidly good reflexes.

“It’s just,” Noct said, and Prompto switched off the internal monologue so he could focus; he had a feeling that Noctis was about to _share some feelings_ , which happened twice a year if he was lucky, “I was always worried that people were only trying to,” he waved a hand at himself, indicating perhaps _to hit on_ or perhaps _to talk to in the first place_ , “whatever, because of who I am. And then I always knew I was supposed to marry Luna. It didn’t get announced for a long time, but it was always the plan. It would have felt…I don’t know. Dishonest. To be running around with someone else.”

“I can see that,” he offered. Noctis had never talked about a presumed engagement to Luna before the official announcement, but he hadn’t been wrong about a lot of the people who wanted to get close to him. Noct was extremely low-key with the whole royalty thing; others were less so, Prompto’s ex Livia being a prime example. He’d never told Noctis the real reason they’d broken up, or rather, that he had broken up with her.

“And then…” Noct ran out of steam. He ducked his head down onto his knees.

Prompto cautiously extended a hand to his shoulder. His skin was cool, still a little clammy. He imagined it would taste like saltwater. He began moving his hand in tentative circles; he could feel the tension radiating up through the tissue of Noct’s muscles, the hard arc of his shoulder blade. He waited, watched the waves hush over the rocks, felt the fitful breeze against his cheeks.

“I could just never…see myself. With Luna. Or Iris. Or anyone. I don’t know why. I _love_ Luna. I just don’t know if I love her the way I’m supposed to.”

It was possible, Prompto reflected, that the Prince—no, the _King_ —of Lucis was coming out to him. He could barely breathe.

“It’s just so easy when I’m with you, or with the guys. I don’t have to…worry about anything.”

 _For now_ , he thought, with a dagger point of sadness. You didn’t have to be the Oracle to see that there was some bad shit on the horizon: the lengthening nights, the Empire’s troop ships circling hawklike over their heads, the gods deciding to concern themselves with the doings of men for the first time in forever.

“What can I do?” Prompto asked. He was sure, in this moment, that if Noctis asked for his bleeding heart, he’d cut it out. He’d belonged to Noctis for years now, in one way or another, or in every way possible, as he was coming to realize.

Noctis shrugged, and then angled one blue eye in his direction. “It turns out that my first kiss was underwhelming.”

Prompto snorted. Apparently they were done with feelings, so he smacked Noct on the back of his idiot porcupine head. “Oh yeah? I dare you to do better.”

Noct sat back up and chewed on his lip. It was pretty fucking cute. Prompto tried, and then failed, to hide a grin: he just looked so ridiculous, still wearing not a single stitch of clothing other than his boots, perched on a cliff with the sweep of the whole fucking world behind him.

“I wish I had my camera.”

“ _Hell_ no.”

“There are a lot of magazines that would pay a lot of money for this shot. You could make me _so_ rich.”

“I guess it’s better than the damned catoblepas.” Noct was grinning now.

“Sure is,” said Prompto, absolutely meaning it. He wrapped a hand in Noct’s half-wet hair and tugged. Noct followed, looking nervous again. It was weird, Prompto thought, that Noctis would be nervous about _this_. He was a black-clad badass and killing machine who faced down MT troopers and even that awful Naga snake thing with equanimity. “You can breathe,” he said, into the air just above Noct’s mouth. “It’s just me.”

Noct inhaled, then leaned the bare centimeters left on his exhale. Their lips were touching again, careful and butterfly-light. Prompto held still and let Noctis explore, let his eyes fall close and his mouth fall open. He ended up on his back with Noct above him, fingers tracing patterns on the skin over his shoulder blades. Eventually, Noctis moved from his lips to his jawline, to the sensitive place behind his right ear, down his neck to the outer wing of his collarbone: soft, barely-there kisses that felt as insubstantial as feathers. It was torture to stay still, but he was scared to move, scared to ruin this careful, quiet thing.

Noctis came back to his mouth eventually, threading a calloused hand through his hair. The whole lengths of their bodies were pressed together; Prompto wound a leg around Noct’s hips and opened his mouth. He felt like he was dying again, but it was from needing to move, to do _something_ with his hands or his hips. They were both hard. He had no idea how he was staying still. This was beyond anything that he’d ever imagined. He’d never thought that Noct, when he’d let himself think about it at all, would be so shy. If _shy_ was a word that could be applied to man with an erection, wearing nothing but black leather boots.

He smiled against Noct’s mouth. Noct pulled back, looking down at him with hazed-over blue eyes. “What?”

Prompto pushed his hair off of his forehead. Noct’s cheek was warm under his palm. “Nothing. Just thinking.”

He frowned. “Why are you _thinking_ right now?”

“Can’t help it. Character flaw. I never shut up and I never stop thinking.”

Noct snorted and rolled off. Prompto sat up on his elbows, enjoying the long line of his back silhouetted against the leaning bulk of the cliffside. The sea had gone all bronze-colored; the sun had almost disappeared behind the mountains. It was time to get back to the house, but he had no desire to move. So he leaned over and started nosing his way up Noct’s spine, running his tongue over the divots of his muscle and bone, eventually making it up to his neck and fanning kisses along his shoulder. Noct stretched back against him, leaning his head back and opening up his neck for further exploration. Prompto found out that he made delicious little gasps when he ran his teeth over the tendons in his neck.

The sun continued to sink.

“We have to go,” he mumbled into Noct’s skin. It was getting dangerous. There was nothing in the entire world that he wanted to do less, in that moment, than go back to the cabin beneath the lighthouse—but there was nothing that they could do about it. The four of them together could barely handle some of the daemons that had been coming out recently.

“I know.” Noct turned to look at him, blue eyes thoughtful. “I wonder how long it’s going to take Iggy and Gladio to figure it out?”

Prompto considered this as he struggled to get his jeans back on. They were tight to begin with; the dampness made it ten times worse. “Is there something to figure out?”

Noct gave him a _look_. Prompto grinned; he looked like himself all of a sudden—not the tense, worried version that had been keeping them company so much lately, but the version he’d first become friends with. Moody, sure, entitled, sometimes unable to keep himself from coming over all aristocratic, despite his best efforts to the contrary—but fundamentally he was an irrepressibly weird nerd. It was the only way they could ever have gotten to be such good friends. “Ignis thinks there’s something to figure out if I wake up five minutes earlier than usual.”

 

 

They ended up racing the sunset back up to the house, tumbling through the door as the last rays of light vanished behind the horizon. Gladio, Iris, and Talcott were playing cards; Ignis and Monica were in the kitchen, supervising pots of something that smelled like fish stew. But there was no ignoring the level of tension in the room.

“What’s up?” Prompto leaned over Iris’s shoulder to look at her hand of cards.

“You left it quite late,” Ignis said in clipped tones. “We were beginning to worry that we’d have to send out a search party.” _Really, Prompto, how could you be so careless?_ was the strong subtext.

“Well, we’re here now,” Noct replied, in a tone of voice that left no room for his supposed underlings to argue, “and we’re fine.”

Ignis made a huffy noise and Gladio glared.

“Ugh, why are you _wet_?” Iris demanded.

Prompto saw his opportunity and seized it. “You won’t _believe_ this fish! It was the size of a dualhorn and Noct _almost_ landed it!” He continued to embroider on the epic struggle between man and fish waged beneath the cliffs of Cape Caem, until Iris smacked him into silence. The rest of the evening passed like any other: dinner, games, messing around with Talcott, going to bed in the bunkroom upstairs.

 

 

“So,” Ignis said the next morning, “as we’re waiting on the sword, we should endeavor to do something useful.”

Prompto scrubbed a hand through his hair. It had not been a restful night. Every time he closed his eyes he’d seen the lean edges of Noct’s body, felt the whisper of lips against his mouth; every time he opened them into the moonlight, there was the dark smudge of his hair, the white-on-white of the sheet slipping down his back.

“Head to Lestallum?” Gladio offered. “We could pick up a bounty or two.”

He didn’t think he could look at Noct without giving it all away, so he focused on his coffee and let Ignis and Gladio debate their options. Noct was also quiet, over on the far side of the table, but no one expected input from him at this time of the morning. He winced internally and tried to think of something to contribute.

“Um, chocobos?” he offered. Ignis and Gladio ignored him. He retreated back into his coffee, eyeing Noct over its rim. They hadn’t had a chance to talk since last night, but then he wouldn’t have expected them to in the Cape Caem house: it was full to the rafters.

In the end, they settled on Lestallum, for lack of any better ideas. Something was always happening there. And, Prompto mused, looking at Noct through his eyelashes, it had _hotel rooms_.

 

 

Of course, they didn’t get to stay in one. Holly immediately sent them out on an errand, so they were busy running through shrubbery and climbing up powerlines and sleeping in the tent for the next two days. Noctis and Prompto barely interacted outside of standard-issue ribbing. He started thinking that he had imagined the whole thing (although a shy, un-kissed Noctis would never have occurred to him), or—worse than a hallucinatory mental illness brought on by saltwater—that Noct regretted it and was pretending it had never happened. But if Noct wanted to pretend that it had never happened, by the gods he was going to pretend it had never happened. He’d pretended worse things in his life.

The three of them were standing underneath the last powerline, craning their necks up at Noct, when he leaned over the railing with a wave. He had no sense of self-preservation around heights. None at all. Probably the knowledge that he could warp himself to safety with his stupid Lucian superpowers. “Prompto! You’ve gotta get your camera up here. It’s unbelievable.”

“Er,” said Prompto. He wasn’t scared of heights, but there was _not scared of heights_ and then there was _not even slightly apprehensive about climbing unsecured up a 200-foot ladder_. “I’m coming?”

Ignis and Gladio both gave him sympathetic looks. “You don’t have to,” Gladio pointed out. “No use risking your neck for a snapshot.”

“It’s my art,” he countered. “When am I ever going to be back here? Besides, he can warp down and save me, right?”

“Likely not. We’ve determined that Lucian royalty are unable to carry animate beings with them,” was Ignis’s contribution.

“Good thing I’m extremely athletic and also, fearless,” he announced to the ladder, and began to climb. Gladio barked out a laugh behind him, which he tried unsuccessfully to turn into a cough.

It wasn’t as bad as he would have thought, as long as he was _very_ careful to only look at the next rung in front of his face. Not to the left, not to the right, _certainly_ not down. But finally, Noct was giving him a hand over the edge of the platform—and it was like the whole world opened up around him.

“Daaaamn,” he drawled. Beneath them, Ignis and Gladio were dots of black; up here, he could see so far that he imagined that he could see the curve of the planet against the horizon line.

He lowered his camera and gave Noct a grin. He’d tucked himself into the far corner of the platform, trying to stay out of the way of the viewfinder. Of course, Prompto had snapped a couple of him anyway. He was just so stupidly handsome. “Definitely worth the climb. I might die on the way down, but whatever, I’ll be dying for my art.”

“I thought you’d like it.” Noct smiled back, a minor-chord curve of his lips. He seemed to be waiting for Prompto to do something, leaning back against the railing, hands curving over the rails.

“Thanks.” He took a step closer. Noct was not looking like he wanted to forget their little interlude right now, staring at him with parted lips and narrowed blue eyes. Prompto felt hypnotized, whether by the gravitational drag Noctis had always exerted on him, or remembering what his mouth had tasted like, or the skin underneath his jaw.

Noct made a little sound, and hooked a finger in his belt loop to tow him in. They kissed, really kissed, open-mouthed, tongues, all of it. He felt dizzy from the slide of their tongues no less than the arc of the world behind Noct’s shoulder.

“I’m really glad I came up here,” he said into Noct’s mouth.

He felt him smile. “Yeah. For your _art_.”

“Can we stay forever?”

Noct pretended to consider it, pressing their foreheads together. “Hm. Not sure how it would go the first time a storm came through. And we’d probably get hungry at some point.”

“I’ve got a granola bar in my pocket.”

“Well, we’re set then,” Noct deadpanned.

“I guess so,” Prompto said, possibly meaning more than the granola bar.

 

 

That night in Lestallum, they lost Ignis and Gladio without too much trouble—the eternal allure of Cup Noodles—and headed back to the café in the market.

“Are we on a _date_?” Prompto joked, unable to keep his leg from bouncing under the table.

“Ugh.” Noct made a face. “I hated all those dates you dragged me on in high school.”

“ _I_ dragged _you_?”

“Didn’t you?”

“I thought we were dragging each other. To you know,” he waved his hand in the vague outline of a woman’s body, “be supportive. Girls always like you, anyway.”

“I guess.” Noct batted his eyelashes at his cup of beer. “Must be because I’m so handsome.”

“I won’t argue with that,” he said, meaning it absolutely.

Noct made a face again. “Gross.”

Prompto kicked him under the table. “This is the worst date I’ve ever been on. You might have a pretty face, but your personality…I’d give it a C+ on a good day. D if you’re having a moody phase.”

“I’m not moody.” Noctis lied with a straight face—possibly the one part of all the politicking and diplomacy that had ever penetrated his thick skull— but Prompto could see the corners of his eyes crinkling, the way they always did when he was trying not to laugh.

“Yeah, I’m not even gonna dignify that with a response.”

“I have a very tragic life,” which had always been Noct’s go-to response when Prompto called him out. It was funnier back in high school, when nobody had died and nobody’s country had been invaded and nobody’s fiancée was imperiled: when Noct really was a spoiled, occasionally bratty princeling with a schedule full of biology homework and sword fighting. Who was a great person, sure, super-fun to be around, funny, thoughtful in his own weird over-privileged way, loyal to a fault—but still, moody for no fucking reason other than that he enjoyed being difficult.

“It’s been sucking recently. I mean, can you _believe_ ,” Prompto leaned over conspiratorially, “Noctis Lucis Caelum was _twenty_ before his first kiss?” He used his best gossip-segment-on-the-radio intonation. “And that his two most faithful retainers aka chaperones are _literally always around_? We’ll have to see how our handsome prince overcomes these tragic challenges to his um, happiness and future make-out sessions.” He trailed off, unable to keep a straight face. Noct was losing it on the other side of the table, doubled over laughing and endangering his beer.

He raised his glass. “Thanks. I’ll be here all week.”

Noctis came up for air. “It really is pathetic.”

“You’re not pathetic? You’re just a twenty-year-old royal virgin. Everyone matures at their own pace.” He definitely couldn’t keep a straight face on that one. “I told you, we learned that in health class. I think there was a fucking test question about it on the final.”

“I’m glad this is a joke now.”

“You didn’t _seriously_ think it wouldn’t be?”

Noct was trying to look pouty and tragic, and failing. “My deepest, darkest secret and you can’t even treat it with respect for like, four days.”

“Not my style, bro. Never gonna be my style. Respectful is not really in my makeup.”

“Fine.” Noct collapsed theatrically back into his chair. It creaked alarmingly and threatened to tip over. “What do you wanna do now?”

“Hmm, not sure at all.” Prompto tapped a finger on his lips. “We could…go sightseeing? Maybe clear some daemons out of Exineris? It’s late enough. Or—cooking ingredients! We could shop for cooking ingredients.”

Noct looked like this night was not going according to plan.

“ _Joking_.”

“Oh.”

“ _Clearly_.”

“I’m not sure exactly how to handle…whatever,” he admitted. “As you have made so abundantly clear, I don’t have a lot of experience with…stuff.”

Prompto immediately dialed back on the ribbing. It was sweet how unsure Noct was (possibly the first time he’d ever thought the words “sweet” and “Noctis” in the same clause), and one might say he had an interest in keeping him happy, both from the best friend perspective, and also the _other thing_ perspective. They would be staying in a hotel room, with a door that locked. “Well, it’s not like I’m a walking encyclopedia on sex and relationships like Gladio.”

Noct shrugged and finished his beer in two long swallows. The night was heating up around them, but Prompto was suddenly worried that he’d fucked up. “Sometimes I don’t know when to shut up,” he offered. “Sorry.”

“Let’s not talk about this anymore.”

“Okay.” He cast around for something else to talk about, but came up with absolutely nothing. The space yawned between them. He wasn’t used to not knowing what to say to Noctis. He was the comedic relief in their merry little troupe, and it was a role he was happy to fill, most of the time. But right now he didn’t feel funny. He felt like saying all kinds of stupid shit to reassure Nocts that he was, in fact, a _really good kisser_ and that he’d been literally _dreaming_ of this night.

“Want to get out of here?” Noct tossed enough gil to cover dinner onto the table.

“Yeah.”

They didn’t take the most direct route back to the hotel, instead wending their way down a few side streets and back alleys. Behind them, the brassy music from the market started to fade, drowned out by the battered city-cement blocks. He could felt the subcutaneous, barely-there thrum of the power plant. Prompto thought about the last time they’d been here, when all of this had gotten started. Or maybe he’d just noticed it for the first time—maybe it had started a long time ago. Gods knew he could be fucking oblivious.

“C’mere,” he said, tugging Noct into the shadows between two shuttered storefronts. Unexpectedly, Noct pushed him up against the wall. Prompto could feel his heart thumping through his ribs. He ran the pad of his thumb over Noct’s lower lip. His mouth was so stupidly soft. Noct breathed out and then kissed him, tasting like beer and turmeric. Prompto let himself be kissed, twining his hands in Noct’s hair—also stupidly soft—to keep him in place.

After a while, Noctis pulled back. “We should get out of here.”

“Yeah.” Prompto kissed him again. He couldn’t help it. Something hooked inside his ribs kept towing him back in, whether it was Noct’s mouth or the feel of their erections pressed together, even through two layers of denim. He’d been so shell-shocked the first day, drunk on the fact that he was kissing Noctis at all, that his dick had almost been an afterthought. Not so tonight.

“We should _really_ get out of here,” Noct said into his mouth, stepping away. He offered Prompto a hand, and they half-ran back to the hotel, laughing into each other’s necks and stumbling around the corners. Prompto wasn’t buzzed at all from one beer, but he was definitely, 100% drunk on the night, like some fucking stupid pop song.

There was a light on under Iggy and Gladio’s door. “I’ll deal with them,” Noct said.

“Better you than me.” He could barely focus on getting the key in their door; acting like a normal human in front of Ignis and Gladio was definitely beyond him.

He pulled the door shut behind him and threw his jacket on a chair. He didn’t know what to do with himself now, exactly. It also seemed like Noct was taking a long time; or maybe it was just the anticipation. He settled for pacing.

Finally the doorknob turned behind him, and Noct slipped in, looking harried.

“Tough crowd?”

He shrugged. “I’ll handle it tomorrow.” He clicked the lock, giving Prompto a mischievous glance from under his bangs. “No surprise visitors this time. And I think Ignis might try.”

“Please, gods, no.”

They smiled at each other across the room, shy again in the overhead light. Noct seemed to come to a decision and pulled his shirt over his head, dropping it on the floor with studied carelessness. Prompto concentrated on breathing—inhale, exhale—as Noct picked his way across the room. He stopped a few inches shy of Prompto’s body, carefully setting his hands on his shoulders. Prompto looked straight into his eyes, feeling a smile tugging at his lips: everything was so wildly, insanely outside of the realm of anything he could have imagined at this time last year. He took one step back, two, until his legs were hitting the edge of the bed.

Noct pushed him down. Prompto went over with a squeak, which was _so_ not sexy. But he was also not the sexy one in this relationship, he reflected, looking up at the silhouette of Noct’s shoulders against the wallpaper. He was just too fucking hot: the cheekbones, the lines of muscles running down his stomach, his nightshade eyes. Of course, you could barely tell with the hair in his face and oversized clothes, but that almost made it better to see him like this.

“You just gonna leave me down here?” he asked, voice coming out all raspy.

Noct leaned over, tugging his shirt out of his pants. Prompto sat up to help pull it off. It landed on the floor next to Noct’s. Sick of waiting, he grabbed a handful of Noct’s hair and pulled their bodies into alignment. Noct gasped into his neck and then kissed him. It was a fucking filthy kiss. Prompto felt like he was being plundered by Noct’s tongue, like something inside him was getting lit the fuck up for the very first time.

Unable to stay still, he flipped them, ignoring the squeal of the bedframe. Noct made a surprised noise into his mouth. Prompto scraped a hand up his side, running his thumb over his nipple. Noct made the noise again. He couldn’t think past the need to put his mouth and his hands absolutely _everywhere_. He ran his mouth down Noct’s neck, all of the gentleness from the cliff gone. Noct didn’t seem to mind; he could feel sword-callused hands scratching up and down his own back, tangling in his hair. Everything went hazy for a while after that, skin and hands and Noct’s low moans when he used his teeth.

“I, um,” Prompto finally said, into the skin on the inside of Noct’s hipbone, “am at the limit of my experience. So you know.”

Noct dragged him back up for a kiss, wrapping his legs around his waist to grind their erections together. “It’s not like I have anything to fucking compare it to.”

Prompto rolled his hips and Noct shivered underneath him. He wanted to crawl inside his skin, which was a creepy thought from the Imperial prototype, but whatever: he didn’t think the Emperor could have imagined one of his little science projects in this position.

He was sick of thinking. He bit Noct on the neck, hard. “Guess we’ll figure it out together?”

“Can’t be worse,” Noct was kissing him again, “than when King’s Knight first came out on mobile.”

Prompto grinned. “We’re unstoppable.

“Mm,” Noct agreed, with a needy note in his voice that made Prompto want to fucking _eat_ him. He settled for licking his way down his chest and unbuttoning his pants. Noct shivered again as he lifted his hips to get them off. The (miniscule) part of Prompto that was still capable of rational thought informed him that he should be freaking out. He told it to shut up, and applied himself to giving another man a blowjob for the first time in his life. It was a little awkward—he had to pull off a couple of time, coughing—but Noct seemed not to mind.

It didn’t last that long. Noct came with another shiver and a long, low moan.

Prompto smiled down at him, enjoying the view until Noct pulled him down again. They kissed, lazily, Noct’s mouth warm and soft.

“Your mind blown?” Prompto asked.

Noctis smacked him. “I think you need some more practice.”

“Gee, who am I gonna find to practice with?”

Noct laughed and rolled them back over. Prompto grinned up at him, enjoying how normal this felt. They were still themselves, even though he hadn’t seen Noct smile like that before: lazy and sated. He could kiss him for days.

“What do you want?” Noct asked into the skin on his neck.

“Whatever you wanna give me.”

It turned out to be messy, virtuoso head, with just enough hands and teeth to keep it interesting. Of course, _of course_ , Noctis Lucis Caelum wouldn’t have a gag reflex, because why should his superpowers be limited to teleporting and blowing shit up?

 

 

Afterwards, they lay next to each other. Prompto kept leaning over to kiss him, unable to reinstate the concept of personal space. He wondered how he looked to Noct; there was no way anyone could ever think he looked as good as Noct looked right now, with his kiss-bruised mouth and sea-colored eyes gone all hazy. He wanted to hide in the space between Noct’s shoulder and neck forever, just push his face into his skin and keep the door locked and pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist.

“Do you ever take this off?” Noct asked, running a fingertip over his wristband.

He’d answered variations on the question for years, but he’d never been quite _this_ naked before, physically or emotionally. He shelved the emotional vulnerability for another day and elected to chew on his lip instead, gratified that Noct’s eyes went immediately to his mouth. “Well,” he prevaricated, “if I told you I’d have to kill you.”

“I don’t know what you could possibly be hiding under there.” Noct sounded amused, though, not like he was going to push him for an answer. “You would have told me if you’d gotten an embarrassing tattoo.”

“Mhmm,” he said, deciding to cut off the line of inquiry with a kiss. Noct grumbled something into his mouth but was gratifyingly easy to distract. He ended up falling asleep on Prompto’s shoulder a few minutes, an hour, some indeterminate amount of low voices and open-mouthed kisses later. Prompto stayed awake for a long time afterward, running his fingers carefully up and down his spine and watching the play of the city lights through the curtain.

 

 

He must have fallen asleep eventually, because the next thing he was aware of was Gladio banging on the door bellowing that they were late.

“Late for what,” Noct moaned. “We don’t have anything to do.”

“Mhmm,” Prompto agreed. “Can we cancel today?” He was stupidly comfortable with Noct’s warm weight pressed into his side.

Noct’s phone disagreed, giving an aggressive trill from his pants pocket. Prompto dragged himself out of bed to get it, while Noct stuck his head under the pillows. It was Cid; the sword was done. “And she’s a beaut! Outdone myself this time.”

“’Kay,” he answered. “We’ll be there soon.”

Noctis made an agonized noise from underneath the pillows.

“We’ll be there before dark,” he revised, unable to keep himself from going back to sit on the edge of the bed and smooth a hand across Noct’s naked shoulder. He clicked the phone off and leaned down to nuzzle into Noct’s neck. “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty.”

Noct rolled over and glared up at him. “Thought Sleeping Beauty got kissed, not tortured.”

“I can do both,” he offered, the soul of generosity.

 

 

They did drag themselves out of the hotel room eventually, after Gladio had hammered on the door again and they’d explored the logistics of fitting two grown men into a one-person shower stall.

Ignis was lurking in the lobby when they finally surfaced. “Don’t wanna hear it,” Noct preempted, stalking right past him out into the heated, muggy morning. Prompto followed with a not-very-apologetic shrug at Ignis, who was left to scramble after them.

“Where’s Gladio?” Prompto asked him.

“At breakfast. He got tired of waiting.”

Prompto couldn’t blame him. His own stomach was growling, not used to having to wait so long to be fed.

“One wonders what you could possibly have been doing,” Ignis snapped. “I know Noctis is difficult in the mornings, but we don’t have limitless time on our hands.”

“Hey,” Noct snapped over his shoulder in his don’t-fuck-with-me-I’m-royal voice, “we’ll get there. I don’t think the Leviathan is going anywhere.”

Ignis’s glasses gave a threatening flash. “I’m not sure you’re treating this situation with the gravity it deserves.”

I guess we’re doing this, Prompto thought as Noct spun on his heel. “You don’t think I’m _treating_ _this situation_ with _the gravity it deserves_? Did _your_ father get _murdered_? Did the country _you’re_ supposed to rule get invaded?”

“I’m just saying that there may be certain influences leading you to—”

“I said we’re going to Cape Caem today, didn’t I?” he interrupted.

“And still—”

“Ignis,” Noctis interrupted, his voice low and flat, “don’t push it. Prompto, let’s go. We can meet them at the car.”

Prompto followed the shape of Noct’s shoulders through the hotel square. In the late-morning sunlight, it was full of shoppers headed to the market and workers bound for the power plant. The open-mouthed magic of the night before was gone; all that was left was the steady sound of the fountain.

 

 

Noct was silent the rest of the day, staring out the window and resisting all efforts to engage him. As if summoned by the tension in the Regalia, clouds pulled a curtain over the sun as Ignis pulled out of the parking lot; by the time they got to the Coernix Bypass, it was raining, fat drops spitting down onto the Regalia’s windshield. Usually Prompto would have helped Gladio try to lift the tension—it was kind of his _raison d’être_ —but today he was too busy mulling over what _certain influences_ Ignis might think were pulling Noct off the straight and narrow.

Straight. Ha. He turned a slightly hysterical giggle into a cough.

It’s not like Ignis’s disapproval was anything new—he’d never thought Prompto was worth Noctis’s time. He couldn’t fight (then), he wasn’t notably intelligent, he had no connections, and he wasn’t schooled in any academic field that could be of particular help to King Noctis Lucis Caelum. As far as Ignis knew, he was just a normal fucking teenager who liked to take pictures and mess around with busted electronics. And he didn’t even know the whole _genetically engineered weapon of the Empire_ part.

No, Prompto was well aware that Ignis considered him a less-than-desirable influence. He just had more to feel guilty about now. He glanced up: he could just see Noct’s reflection in the rain-spattered window, the clean shape his jaw made as he looked over his shoulder. He remembered how that skin tasted with a shudder, the urgent noise Noct had made as Prompto nipped at the hinge of his jaw.

 

 

It was still raining when they pulled into the gravel lot at Cape Caem. Prompto climbed out of the car, giving his hips a twist and stretching up towards the clouds. It felt good to unkink his spine. He just wasn’t made for sitting still, let alone sitting still in the smothering tension that had blanketed the inside of the Regalia. Especially since every time he blinked, the image of Noct’s lips wrapped around his dick flashed behind his eyelids.

“Are we really going this time?” Gladio asked Noct as they started up the hill towards the lighthouse.

Noct grunted an affirmative.

Silence fell again, other than the steady rattle of the rain against the leaves. Everything looked muted and half-blurred. Prompto had spent a lot of time outside in the rain since they’d left the Crown City, but this felt particularly miserable—there was a cold, heavy wind starting to blow in from the sea, and he thought the rain might be going horizontally. There was no way to stay dry, but fortunately it wasn’t too far to the lighthouse.

“Here she is,” Cid said, offering Noctis his sword with an uncharacteristic level of deference. Even Prompto could tell it was a masterpiece, and he barely knew a quillon from a pommel: the blade had a blue-silver ripple that uncannily echoed Noct’s eyes, and it fit into his hand as if had been summoned up for him. Tension flowed out of Noct’s shoulders as he grasped it and gave it a swing. It felt like the air hummed in the blade’s wake—the power of Titan paired with a crackle of Ramuh’s lightning.

“Thanks, Cid. But that barely seems adequate.” Noct couldn’t quite seem to take his eyes off the sword.

“What are you going to call her?” Gladio asked.

“Ultima,” Noct answered after a pause. “I don’t think I’ll ever do better.”

Prompto agreed. No matter how many Royal Arms Noctis collected, they weren’t really _his_ like this sword—Ultima—was. He wondered if Ultima would ever join the collection of Arms, leap up to shatter and stab the next savior of Lucis in the heart.

He shook off a chill. He didn’t like to think about Noct dying.

“Well, glad you like her,” Cid said after a weighted moment.

“We’re ready to leave,” Noct said as Ultima blinked into the nothing place where she’d stay until called again.

Cid squinted and rubbed at his chin. “It’s a mite rough out there right now. Better to wait until tomorrow—the weather should clear up tonight. Make for a smoother ride.”

“If you say so.”

“Shall we see what’s on for dinner?” Ignis asked, apparently deciding he’d die of old age waiting for Noct to extend an olive branch.

“Not hungry.”

“You aren’t…hungry.” Ignis didn’t sound like he believed it. It was, in fact, unbelievable; Noctis was always hungry.

“I want to watch the sunset,” Noct declared, in defiance of the rain that was still spitting against the windows of the lighthouse.

Ignis opened his mouth, but snapped it shut at a glance from Gladio.

“Let’s head on down,” Cid said, either oblivious to the tension or choosing to disregard it. Probably the latter, Prompto thought. Cid had a lot more going on that his grease-monkey-in-Hammerhead persona would lead you to believe. “Don’t want Monica’s good cooking to get cold. Make sure to lock up behind you, Noctis. We don’t get too many Imperials ‘round here, but I don’t want ‘em finding all my toys if they come knocking.”

Prompto made to follow, but Noct caught his wrist. “Come on,” he said, shutting the door behind Cid. The lock clicked definitively with a twist of his wrist. Probably not what Cid had meant by locking up, but Noctis seemed to be in no mood to handle Ignis or Gladio busybodying around. Prompto had always wondered how he’d put up with it. The two of them had just been—always there, as long as he’d known Noct. He’d guessed it came with the royal territory; there had never seemed any point in questioning it, since Noct accepted Ignis and Gladio’s presence the way he accepted the existence of trees or apartment buildings, but now he wondered if it hadn’t worn on him, after all. With Noct it was hard to know.

They climbed up the staircase circling the interior of the lighthouse, leaving bootprints in the dust. It didn’t look like anyone came up here, not even Talcott, looking for a ten-year-old’s adventures. And Prompto could see why—the steps were ominously creaky in a few places. They even had to jump a broken riser or two. It was no place for a little boy.

“Cid said he’s working on getting the elevator running up here again,” Noct said conversationally.

“Yeah?” Prompto pulled his plaid from around his waist and used it to scrub the grime off one of the windows. He couldn’t tell if it was dark because of the rainclouds, or because the windows were so dirty. “I guess we’ve been giving him a lot to work on.”

Noct rattled the doorknob that led out onto the lighthouse’s viewing platform. It gave an unwilling turn, and he shoved it the rest of the way open. And damned if outside, the clouds weren’t starting to break up, blowing out to trail long fingers across the sky. They met the flat gray ocean at the horizon line, merging into steel-colored ripples. It wasn’t the limpid, sun-bronzed late afternoon they’d spent before, down on the cliffs, when everything had been so peaceful, dipped in gold.

“I’m worried,” Noct said, from where he was leaning against the iron railing, looking out towards Altissia. Always toward Altissia, now.

“You and me both, buddy.” Prompto propped his elbows on the railing, and leaned his shoulder against Noct’s.

“I feel like I’m worried about everything.” He clenched and unclenched his fist, looking at the creases in his black leather glove with academic interest. “I never thought it would be like this. I never thought I was—anything special. Anyone special. You always hear about all the heroes of Lucis—I figured I’d be lucky to just not fuck up too spectacularly.”

“Oh, Noct.” Prompto didn’t know what to say: you’ve always been special to me? You’ve been my hero since the day you decided to notice that I was alive? Instead he said, “No one could have predicted this, any of it. Not even Ignis, and he likes to think he knows everything.”

“I know he means well. Sometimes I just get so fucking sick of always having someone looking over my shoulder, finding new ways for me to be inadequate.”

“You and me both.”

Noct barked a laugh, turning to look at him. “At least we’ve got each other.”

“Always,” Prompto answered, heart thumping in his throat.

Noct blinked once, slowly, and leaned in to kiss him. His lips were soft, warm in comparison with the cold wind gusting in from the water. “I don’t know what’s going to happen,” he cautioned into Prompto’s mouth. “With Luna, or with anything.”

“No one does.”

Noct kissed him harder, pulling him around so Prompto’s back was against the railing. He felt his stomach swoop: the iron felt so insubstantial against his spine, and there was nothing between his shoulders and the raw fall of air. He let his head fall back with a shiver, let Noct run his teeth down the skin of his neck. He felt like everything was balanced on a knife’s edge: himself; them, on top of this lighthouse; the world.

“I want you,” he said into Noct’s hair, lips finding the shell of his ear, biting down. Noct made a wrecked noise and kissed him harder, open-mouthed and wanting.

Prompto slipped his fingers under the black fabric of Noct’s shirt, walking them up the ridges of his abs and then back down to fumble with his belt buckle. Noct gasped and caught his mouth again, bending him further back over the railing. Prompto could feel the hard length of him digging into his hip, as hot and insistent as Noct’s tongue in his mouth. He felt off-balance, dizzy, as if Noct was simultaneously the only thing holding him in place and the one thing knocking him off balance.

“Not here,” he said into Noct’s hair, pushing at his hips.

“I’d catch you if you fell.” Noct pressed the words into the hollow of his throat, mapped a route back up to the space behind his ear. Prompto heard himself make a noise, push Noct back again: the scrape of boots on cement, the harsh sounds of their breath, Noct’s shoulders hitting the glass window to make it rattle in its pane. It was cold, with the wind and the height, thrown into contrast with the heat of their mouths together. He’d never felt like this with Livia, never dreamed of anything like this with Cindy; he couldn’t imagine going back to anything, anyone, else after he’d had this.

“I know you’d try,” he answered, late, unable to get the low rasp of Noct’s voice to stop vibrating through his head. But I don’t think you can promise me anything, he thought. It didn’t matter; the only thing that mattered to him was the long column of Noct’s thrown-back neck, the helpless noises he made as Prompto unbuckled his pants and dropped to his knees.

Noct gasped, fingers tracing patterns through Prompto’s hair. He glanced up from under his lashes; Noctis was watching him, eyes narrowed to focused blue slits. Noct brushed a thumb along his cheekbone, and then pulled him back up the length of his body, kissing him again.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

“No,” Prompto answered, although the wind was picking up again and the light was starting to take on the red overlay of dusk. He drew back and looked at the picture Noctis made, leaned up against the dark wood and shadow of the lighthouse window. Shadows were starting to lean across the platform as the sun slipped towards the Rock, seeming to blur Noct around the edges. Prompto wanted to freeze this moment forever, store the snapshot away to keep him going through—whatever came next. Whatever was waiting for them in Altissia. “I want you,” he repeated, meaning, I want as much of you as I can have, right now, forever.

Prompto thought they both understood the mechanics of what he was asking for, if the hungry light in Noct’s eyes was anything to go by. He just, personally, was not sure how to _apply_ those messy, specific mechanics to this particular location. His particular body.

“Cid has a couch downstairs,” Noct offered, and Prompto couldn’t help but huff a laugh into the side of his face. Of course this was going to be a struggle—it seemed like nothing could come easily for them.

“I couldn’t look him in the face again.”

“I could bend you over the railing.” Noct was definitely fucking with him now, even if his hands had started a campaign against Prompto’s belt buckle.

“Ooh, you know how much falling to my death turns me on.”

“Do you have any better ideas?” Noct bit his ear while his right hand did something _interesting_ , and Prompto squeaked. Noct laughed, low and quiet, and flipped them around to pin Prompto up against the wall.

“Here’s probably good.” Prompto smiled at him and Noct wrinkled his nose, before pushing his vest off his shoulders to fall discarded around their ankles. Prompto’s t-shirt followed. Goosebumps rippled across his chest as Noct bent to plant kisses along his collarbone, mouth at a nipple. Prompto let his head fall back against the glass as Noct’s lips descended lower, dropping fleeting touches along his abs, pausing at the v-shaped line on his hip. Prompto shivered, and let his hands fall to tangle in Noct’s hair.

He shivered again when Noct reached behind him. “Gun oil?” Noct murmured into the skin at the crease of his thigh.

“Left vest pocket,” he answered, voice catching.

Noct’s hands and mouth disappeared for a second. “Turn around,” he ordered. Prompto obeyed, feeling the focused rasp of Noct’s voice somewhere deep in his stomach. The oil was cold, but Noct’s fingers were warm; the first two were easy, just a little bit of a stretching feeling, but the third had him leaning his forehead into the glass and squeezing his eyes against the burn. “Breathe,” Noct said into the back of his neck. “I’ve got you.”

“Just give me a minute.” He could feel the whisper of Noct’s lips against his skin on his spine, the almost-imperceptible shake of the fingers inside him. The wind was nipping at his exposed skin, but Noct seemed to be radiating heat, Fira inside the magic flask of his body. Noct adjusted his fingers—carefully, in and out—and finally, finally found the spot that made him light up inside. Forget the pain and ask for more.

 

 

Afterwards, they leaned their foreheads together, breathing each other’s air. Prompto considered and discarded a few quips about Noct’s recently de-virginized status; he just couldn’t summon the willpower to do anything but stand there and pant, letting Noct hold him up. It was getting colder, with the sun behind the horizon line, and the wind still tugging at their hair. But he didn’t want to move, either, because he could still feel the phantom aftermaths of his orgasm popping under his skin. And Noct felt so warm and solid against his chest.

“We should head down,” Noct said, finally.

“Do we have to?” He could hear the plaintive note in his voice. He couldn’t help feeling as though rejoining the party down in the cabin would snap—whatever it was they’d found up here, with the high singing of the wind and the distant murmur of the waves. He didn’t know why he felt that way; maybe just the simmering issues with Ignis, or the irrevocable step of boarding the ship for Altissia. It was impossible to believe that nothing would change tomorrow, and gods be damned, he didn’t _want_ to face whatever was waiting for them on the other side of the narrow sea. Whether it was the Empire or the Leviathan or Noct’s relationship with Luna, or whatever fucking else the fates could think to throw at them.

“Not now, I guess.”

They ended up mostly-dressed again, sitting with Noct’s back up against the wall of the lighthouse and wrapped in whatever pieces of coats and vests they could put together. The moon was just a sliver away from being full, lighting up the waves with a silver-gilt ripple. Everything was silent, other than the wind and the waves. He could feel Noct’s heart beating through his ribcage, still feel the ache and stretch of where they’d been joined together.

“I don’t want to leave tomorrow,” Noct said, voice quiet and half-muffled in Prompto’s hair. “I know I’m supposed to be acting like I’m not, but I’m scared.”

“Me too,” Prompto answered. I just got you, he thought, but didn’t say. I don’t want to lose this.

Noct tightened his arms. They didn’t speak again for a long time, until the sun finally, inevitably, began to edge above the rim of the world, and it was time to go.

 

 

_Addendum_

“It’s a good thing we didn’t wait one more night to find a hotel room,” Prompto said, throwing himself into the literal _ocean_ of white sheets at the hotel in Altissia.

Noct snorted, kicking off his boots and joining him. “I remember _someone_ didn’t want to wait.”

“Can you blame me?”

“No,” Noct answered, deadpan. “I’m pretty irresistible.”


End file.
